


Lost and Found

by beeceae



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Florist! Yuuri, Fluff, Inspired by Barechu's lovely Vicchan AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photographer! Viktor, Vicchan AU, oh look it's a wild unreliable author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeceae/pseuds/beeceae
Summary: Still singing his little song, a broad smile appears on Viktor’s lips, “You know… My name is Vicchan as well!” Viktor lets out a little laugh, “Maybe it was fate that brought us together, Vicchan Number Two!” the man hugs the dog closer to his chest.Snuggling against Viktor’s warm sweater, Vicchan yips in agreement._____In which Vicchan never died, and Viktor finds him wandering lost in the streets of St. Petersburg.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hah... I wrote it. I'm so slow at writing. 
> 
> This was based off of Barechu's Vicchan AU! If you ever find the time. I don't think I gave it the justice it deserves though.  
> Please check [her](https://twitter.com/rueamasawa) out, she has lovely art and an even lovelier person!

Viktor saunters down the pavement down his route to where Makkachin—the man’s lovable poodle and best friend—was waiting for his return home. His designer leather dress shoes click against the concrete sidewalk that has been recently shovelled and is now spotless from any winter snow. Warm scents waver in the air, emitting from the brown paper bag Viktor was carrying in his arms from his recent visit to the grocery store.

 _Oh,_ Viktor stops in his tracks, _I forgot to buy those treats for Makkachin…_ Viktor peers into the paper bag with a loaf of bread sticking out of it. Eggs, bread, a few local pastries, but nothing specifically for Makkachin.

A harsh breeze from the cold winter air smacks Viktor in the face with the feeling of horrible guilt.

Horrible, completely horrendous.

Viktor knows he isn’t deserving of the title, _pet owner_. He dips his head in shame, allowing the bitterly cold temperature to hopefully eat at him until he finally shrivels up and dies. Minutes pass and Viktor resolves in curling up into a ball in the middle of the sidewalk, hugging the shopping bag like a teddy bear and continues to mope over how awful of an owner he is to Makkachin. People walk past Viktor, glancing back at him with looks that simply read as, ‘What mid-life crisis hit, that man?’ and also a few faces that say, ‘Oh it’s just Viktor again.’

The air nips at Viktor’s face, turning his skin a pale cream, if Viktor remains outside on the ground any longer he’ll most definitely get sick or worse, frostbite.

Viktor is keenly aware of this, yet even still the man refuses to get up from his coiled position, telling himself that this is retribution for how he is a sad excuse of a friend to Makkachin.

Breaking through all of Viktor’s pessimistic thoughts of how Makkachin probably hates Viktor now and is most likely plotting his revenge against the man, a sudden bark rings in Viktor’s ears.

Slowly pulling himself back up onto his feet, Viktor looks around for the unidentified sound, his eyes darting left, right, up and down, and unless the tree beside him is yapping at him, he finds nothing that matches the voice of the barks. Viktor’s beginning to come to the conclusion that he’s insane—turns out after having told Viktor for years already, Yuri was right. Hearing voices in his head _isn’t_ the most reassuring sign that he isn’t a total maniac. Inconspicuously, Viktor continues to walk down the street, pretending as if the man isn’t completely delusional and wasn’t hearing sounds in his head. Taking a step further down the street, he hears the same bark once more. This time, Viktor knows he isn’t insane, he knows he hears that bark outside of his head and is sure that it is indeed real. Spinning around, he casts his curious, azure blue eyes down, only to see a dog—a poodle to be exact—sitting at his feet.

The puppy—that seems to be identical to his poodle, just incredibly smaller—scampers around Viktor in circles.

Yip, yip! the brown dog yelps, wagging its tail with its pink tongue lolling. Practically melting away, Viktor feels his embodiment ascend into heaven just at the sight of the small poodle with its curly brown fur and adorable brown eyes.

Smiling, Viktor crouches down to pet the pup on the head, “Hello there!”

“Where’s your owner little one?” Viktor murmurs as he scratches the puppy behind its fluffy ear, searching for a person who could possibly be this beyond cute dog’s owner.

Nobody in sight.

Unless again, the tree beside him owns the dog. Which probably isn’t be more insane than him according to Yuri.

“Are you lost?”

The dog woofs in response.

“Hm,” Viktor thinks, pressing his finger to his lips then aha-s almost immediately after, “then I guess I’ll just have to take you home!” Setting the paper bag filled with groceries onto the ground, Viktor makes a move to pick the puppy up but stops.

 _Don’t take the dog Viktor, you’re already a horrible pet owner…_ Viktor nags at himself. _But how could I just leave this poor puppy?_ Viktor frowns at the thought.

Taking his hands up to the chocolate poodle’s fluffy face, he squishes the dog’s cheeks. Viktor feels his self-control chipping away as the dog stares him down with heart-wrenching puppy dog eyes.

 _Take it. Take the dog,_ Viktor’s subconscious screams.

Picking the toy poodle up into his arms, he feels the dog trembling against his coat.

“Oh you poor thing,” he mumbles tucking the dog into his trench coat to warm it up.

“I’ll take care of you until we can find your owner, okay....” Viktor trails off as he inspects the identification tag hanging from the puppy’s collar, to find its name.

Etched onto the metal bone-shaped dog tag is the name, Vicchan, in little cursive writing.

“Vicchan?” Viktor continues as he begins to walk down the street with the miniature poodle inside his coat. As Viktor hums a little tune, a content look on his face, it seems to not appear to him that he forgets the groceries in the middle of the street.

Still singing his little song, a broad smile appears on Viktor’s lips, “You know… My name is Vicchan as well!” Viktor lets out a little laugh, “Maybe it was fate that brought us together, Vicchan Number Two!” the man hugs the dog closer to his chest.

Snuggling against Viktor’s warm sweater, Vicchan yips in agreement. 

* * *

 “Makkachin I’m home!” Viktor calls—by the time he gets to his house he realizes he left the groceries at the side of the street, which is a real shame since he wanted those pastries too.

“I’m sorry Makkachin, I forgot to buy those treats,” the silver-haired man apologizes slipping his shoes off as he steps onto the wood flooring, “but I do have another surprise!”

Viktor awaits for Makkachin to come bursting through the doors of his bedroom to greet him, but instead nothing.

Absolute silence.

The flat seemingly empty, Viktor’s face morphs into a look of fear. Usually, Makkachin is bounding towards him by now.

“Makkachin?” Viktor’s distressed voice echoes through the apartment, bouncing off the walls then back to him.

Still no reply.

Viktor is more than frightened that Makkachin wasn’t here.

Suddenly, without warning a brown and fluffy force smacks Viktor to the ground. That force being Viktor’s positively adorable poodle, Makkachin.

“Makkachin! Where were you!” Viktor exclaims but is silenced with Makkachin’s frantic licks across his face. With it being Makkachin though, Viktor guesses that Makkachin had been waiting at the doorstep for his return most of the day, but had fallen asleep.

“I missed you too!” Viktor breaks out as Makkachin relentlessly licks his cheeks, making them sloppily wet with dog drool. “Okay, okay, I love you too Makkachin! But, could you please get off me?” Viktor laughs, but Makkachin wasn’t allowing Viktor to escape, clinging to the man like a lint ball. Unable to escape from Makkachin’s grasp, Viktor is incapable of performing any formal introductions that he so needs to do. However, it seems unneeded as Vicchan made his own appearance without Viktor’s assistance.

Crawling out of Viktor’s incredibly expensive, yet subtly fashionable Burberry overcoat, Vicchan joins Makkachin in licking Viktor’s face.

“Why!” Viktor whines but smiles nonetheless as Makkachin runs his tongue across Viktor’s forehead.

“Please I plead for mercy!” the man groans jokingly, putting his hands over his head, only exposing himself to more wet licks and slobber.  

His face now slightly damp and sticky? Viktor picks himself up when Makkachin and Vicchan _finally_ unhand him from being their prisoner. His hair feels to be unnaturally standing upright and takes notice that his bangs aren’t falling in front of his eyes like they usually are. Viktor supposes that the dogs licked his hair too. Looking at the two dogs who are proudly wagging their tails so rapidly and viciously that it could probably knock a man out, it made Viktor break into a fit of laughter.

“I love you two,” Viktor giggles, pulling both of the dogs down into a hug.

“Oh!” Viktor remembers his task at hand and scratches behind both of the dog’s soft ears, “I forgot to introduce you to Vicchan!”

“Makkachin,” Viktor turns to Makkachin, “meet Vicchan! He’s going to be your brother for the next little while!” The platinum blonde gestures to the far smaller poodle on the opposite side of him.

Throwing his index finger up, another idea pops into Viktor’s head. “How about a commemorative photo?” Viktor looks at Makkachin then at Vicchan awaiting for their response.

“Woof!” Viktor barks, squishing Makkachin’s furry face when he got no reply from either dog. “Yes, yes a photo!” Viktor imitates a higher pitched voice than his own to be what he believes Makkachin’s voice is.

“And what about you, Vicchan Number Two?” Viktor twists around to face Vicchan, squishing the smaller pup’s cheeks as well.

“Yay, let’s do a photo!” the man impersonates what Vicchan’s human voice is, which is apparently extremely high pitched.

“Okay!” Viktor claps, pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. Pulling Makkachin closer to him and holding Vicchan in the grasp of his left hand, he snaps a quick selfie. As he opens the photo up, he spots his far too bizarre hair immediately, displaying his lovely cowlick along with it. He deletes it a few seconds after. Viktor recovers the photos and keeps them in his camera roll only after he crops himself out of the pictures. The man isn’t about to throw away precious photographs that involve the two most adorable dogs he has ever seen, as long he isn’t in the picture too.

Viktor fixes his hair in a few minutes, 35 minutes tops, so his bangs aren’t looking like he just escaped from a hurricane. One, in which is impossible, since even a hurricane will never be able to damage this perfect of hair and two, at least if a hurricane somehow jumbles his hair, he’ll have a comb on hand.

Though, a hurricane and a swarm of dog licks are much different. Dog licks are far worse, and unfortunately, Viktor did not have a comb with him either.

The second Viktor believes his hair is somewhat better, he pulls out his phone and rapidly clicks on the capture photo button on the touchscreen. Somehow Viktor can take 5 pictures per second, so it only takes five minutes for Viktor’s camera roll have a flood of photos and selfies of the dogs with him in it. By the end of it, the man has 3062 photos to be exact: 3059 photographs of the dogs and 3 photos with Viktor and the dogs together.   

* * *

_Vwoop,_ Viktor’s cellphone murmurs as he posts a picture of him, Makkachin and their temporary family member, Vicchan, on Instagram.

 _Looks like Makkachin and I have a guest! Meet Vicchan Number Two!_ read the post, the photo of Makkachin squished against Viktor’s face with Vicchan hoarding most of the area in the picture attaching to it.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Viktor reclines onto the hardwood floor, having both of the dogs, Makkachin and Vicchan sleeping around him. He feels Vicchan’s breathing against his leg as he ruffles through Makkachin’s brown fur. With a sigh, Viktor stares at the ceiling, allowing his eyes close for a few seconds with the two most precious dogs in the world by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What shall we do today?” Viktor asks crouching down to see the dogs eye to eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still really slow at writing.  
> Originally this was a really angsty chapter. Now I think it's mainly just fluffy nonsense.

Little paws jump on Viktor’s rib cage, forcing him to jolt from his sleep. Fluttering his eyes, Viktor rests his gaze at the two culprits behind the master plan in waking him up, Makkachin and Vicchan. 

“You couldn’t have let me sleep for five more minutes?” Viktor facetiously complains, sitting upright on the backboard of his bed. 

_ Ruff! _ Makkachin responds and licks the man’s left cheek. Viktor doesn’t speak dog, but he knows that  _ Ruff _ , definitely means  _ nope _ . 

Lopsidedly smiling, Viktor pets both of the dog’s heads, combing his fingers through their locks of chocolate brown fur. He makes a move to stretch and pet Vicchan who was scampering around on the bed much too excitedly. The second he moves any more than an inch; he suddenly falls off the edge of the mattress. 

“Ow.”

Rolling his arms, Viktor stretches his muscles hoping to loosen the sores he received from tumbling onto the floor. Stiffness lingers on every limb and joint of Viktor’s body. 

Picking his body off the floor, Viktor immediately realizes he’s out of food. 

Out of human food at least. 

He could probably eat dog kibble for breakfast. 

However, he doesn’t necessarily want to, and also it tastes pretty awful in his opinion—he's tried. 

Ambling to the kitchen, Viktor drags out a large bag of dried dog kibble from one of the lower cabinets. 

Hearing the sound of kibble clinking into metal dog bowls, Vicchan and Makkachin bark impatiently. 

Vicchan barks, scurrying around Viktor in quick and rapid circles. 

Makkachin paws at Viktor’s foot and whimpers so Viktor would feel guilty enough to allow the dogs to eat. 

And as per usual, it works. 

Submitting to Makkachin’s precious puppy dog eyes, Viktor sets the two metal dog bowls—both are actually Makkachin’s—down in front of Makkachin’s and Vicchan’s greedy mouths. Crouching down, Viktor scrambles the fur at the back of Makkachin’s neck, drawing out the knots stuck in the poodle’s soft pelt. 

The sound of kibble scratching the surface of the metal bowls echo through the flat. The single microsecond that both Makkachin and Vicchan finish eating their breakfast, the pair begin to snoop around, flipping their bowls upside down in seek of more food. 

Viktor laughs as Vicchan looks underneath his paws perhaps believing that more dog kibble would be hidden under them.

“Silly dogs,” Viktor mumbles as he goes to prepare for the day. 

Which usually composes of showering, changing and eating breakfast, but Viktor has to cut breakfast today. It was the man’s fault for forgetting the groceries at the side of the road.  

Once Viktor finishes cleaning up and skipping breakfast, he finds Makkachin and Vicchan in the middle of the living room. The two were playing a game of tug-o-war with a toy rope. Somehow, Vicchan was winning despite having the dog toy bigger than him. 

The second that Vicchan spots Viktor, he drops the toy within his small jaws and comes to greet Viktor with a cheerful bark. 

_ Yip! Woof! Yip! Woof!  _ Makkachin and Vicchan run up to Viktor trying to climb up his pant leg. 

“What shall we do today?” Viktor asks crouching down to see the dogs eye to eye. 

At Viktor’s words Vicchan and Makkachin dash to the front door pawing at it, pleading to go outside. 

“Sorry! But it’s too cold to go outside today!” an apologetic look settles on Viktor’s face. 

Vicchan simply whines in response staring at Viktor with the saddest little puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. Viktor feels the entirety of his already little self-control fracture into itty bitty pieces of dust. 

Then Makkachin joins in. 

Viktor bites his lip, trying to fight the need to sell his house to obey every whim of these two dogs. 

The dog duo with unbearable puppy dog eyes. 

“Alright, I give up,” Viktor caves in. 

Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Viktor opens up the closet directly beside the front door in search of a leash. 

Somewhere inside that small closet along with many, many, many pairs of expensive and designer shoes, Viktor knows that there are two leashes. 

Or, one leash. 

Or, at least half a leash. 

Somewhere in there. 

Yeah, somewhere. 

He shuffles his hand around, pushing away several empty shoe boxes. Viktor is lucky, incredibly lucky actually, and pulls out two matching blue leashes. 

“Makkachin! Vicchan!” Viktor holds up the two leashes above the dogs’ heads. 

“Time for a walk!” 

At the word walk, Vicchan Number Two and Makkachin jump up and down, wagging their tails in uncontained enthusiasm. 

Makkachin barks, spinning in circles so that Viktor would finally clip them to their collars so they could, at last, go outside. 

_ Woof! Yip!  _ Vicchan and Makkachin both encircle Viktor jumping onto him in excitement. Viktor sure didn’t speak dog, but he knows that means  _ Let’s go, let’s go! _

Viktor bends down to clip their collars with the snap hooks on the leashes, “And… done!”

“You ready?” Viktor turns to look at the overly excited poodles, scratching at the front door to go outside. 

His hand tightly gripped around both dogs’ leashes, he opens the front door, careful to not accidentally hit one dog in the face. 

Makkachin and Vicchan would probably be dragging Viktor away was it not for his grasp on the nylon cord that allowed him to have somewhat control over the rambunctious dogs. The moment he closes the door to his flat, however, Vicchan and Makkachin drag Viktor down multiple flights of stairs until they’re before the front doors to the lobby. 

Viktor’s panting by the time they’re outside the front doors, but the dogs, on the other hand, they’re still full of energy ready for round 2. 

And so round 2 begins. 

As Viktor struggles to catch his breath, the two blue ropes that were holding the two dogs back from running off skids against Viktor’s hand. 

“Huh? Wait!” Viktor yelps as Makkachin and Vicchan begin to run off. “Makkachin! Vicchan!” Viktor calls for the pair as he frantically chases after the duo despite already being out of breath.

The blue leashes in tow behind them, Makkachin and Vicchan continue to dash on without Viktor, their front paws in between their legs. 

“Wait for me!” Viktor calls. Tripping and stumbling on his own two feet, it was safe to say that it being the middle of winter in St. Petersburg, it wasn’t fit to be running. Viktor slips on an icy patch in the midst of the sidewalk, and topples over, falling face first into a snowbank. 

Viktor lies there, face stuck in the cold snow, his body becoming rigidly cold from the -5 degrees Celsius temperature. Eventually, Makkachin and Vicchan return to Viktor—like the loyal poodles they are—with Viktor’s face still in the snow. 

Minutes pass and Viktor remains unmoving as Makkachin whines, nudging Viktor’s motionless body with his fluffy paw. Vicchan whimpers with worried brown eyes scared that his temporary owner may be dead. All of the sudden, Viktor’s hand rises from his side and scoops up a handful of the chilling, wet white powder that was snow from the snow bank. The clump of packed snow in Viktor’s hand, the hand plops the frost directly atop of Vicchan Number Two’s head. 

“Haha!” a muffled voice laughs. Throwing his numb face out of the snow, Viktor smiles at Vicchan whom he’d just covered in snow. 

The weight of the snow slowly becomes too much for Vicchan’s small body as it slides off the top of the puppy’s head leaving a wet trail in its wake. Vicchan’s cinnamon brown fur suddenly puffs up, making the puppy’s curly coat even more frizzy than it was before. 

Viktor clutches his heart, feeling attacked by the sheer cuteness. He feels himself leaving Earth into a trance of adorable fluffiness.   

But Makkachin, being the such reliable and gracious dog that he is, helps Viktor return back to earth by throwing the man back into the snowbank. 

_ Woof! _ Makkachin barks heartily, proud of his achievement of hurling Viktor into the snow. 

Following his brother, Makkachin’s, example, Vicchan tackles Viktor into the snowbank as well. The thing is, Viktor was still trapped in the snow bank, so in the end Vicchan charges into the thin air, landing head first into the snow pile. 

Vicchan desperately yelped for help, his wagging tail being the only thing not stuck in the snow. 

Great, perfect even, Viktor and Vicchan Number both had their faces a foot deep into the snow. 

Viktor swore he could hear Makkachin barking for them behind them. Or was bark-laughing. Or laugh-barking. Either way Makkachin was most definitely snickering at their current situations. 

After a little while, Viktor finally picks himself out of the snow bank a second time, managing to pry Vicchan’s stuck head out of the snow as well.

Viktor just stares at Makkachin an expression that only reads as  _ you could have helped. _

Makkachin barks in return and Viktor knows his dear poodle means,  _ no.  _

A freezing and shivering Vicchan huddles in between Makkachin’s front paws, trying to warm up within them. Makkachin greets Vicchan, affectionately pawing the smaller poodle to snuggle in closer. Makkachin looks up at Viktor again, and barks a second time, saying, _ I’ll help Vicchan, but not you.  _

At least, that’s what Viktor thinks Makkachin is saying. But he could be crazy. There’s a large likelihood that he very well may be. 

Viktor grumbles in the response before smiling immediately after. He laughs, ignoring the weight of his dripping wet Burberry coat. 

“Let’s go home now, shall we?” Viktor suggests, fumbling up the fur at the top of Makkachin’s head. 

Makkachin and Vicchan bark in reply, blatantly tired from all the excitement and the freezing temperature. 

Together they head home, all of them soaking wet, well, with Viktor only soaking wet. Despite already falling into the snow twice, Makkachin had pushed Viktor into the snow heap a 3rd time for good measure. 

Despite only being a block away from the flat and outside for five minutes—actually they were outside for a good forty minutes—Viktor catches a fever. That last time Viktor fell into the snow heap most definitely wasn’t the best plan. However, Viktor wasn’t the only one sick, Makkachin and Vicchan had both gotten a cold to match Viktor as well. 

By the time they made it to the apartment lobby, the poor puppies were miserable, sneezing left and right with Viktor feeling as if he was about to pass out in the middle of it all. 

Many people passing through the lobby casts worried looks, asking if they could assist the overly drained trio, but Viktor couldn’t hear a peep. Each passerby’s voice, along with the concierge’s own, morphs into this abnormally sluggish and inaudible noise that Viktor can somewhat hear, but the man couldn’t care enough to try and distinguish it. 

Seconds away from collapsing, the trio, Makkachin, Vicchan and Viktor all slowly, very slowly, trudge up multiple flights of stairs—though they could use the elevator, but sickness clouds one’s logical thinking—to reach Viktor’s apartment. 

The moment Viktor unlocks the front door to the condo, him and the dogs all teeter into the room, in a drunken haze that was flu season. 

* * *

 

Afternoon sunlight seeps through the crack of his curtains covering the plexiglass windows inside Viktor’s flat. 

Viktor’s elm brown overcoat was cast aside beside the front door, dripping wet. 

Besides the barely stirring curtains and the puddle forming underneath the overcoat sitting in the corner, the modern apartment with its brown and white aesthetic was lifeless. 

It was dead not because it was empty, rest be assured the home had two dogs and a man inhabiting it, but the overall atmosphere felt as if the plague had just hit. 

And indeed it did. 

Residing on the pasty coloured linen sofa was Makkachin, Vicchan and Viktor all huddling under a blanket, each and every one of them sick as a dog. 

“Achoo!” Viktor sniffles, wiping his nose with a tissue. 

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says nasally, blowing his nose with the kleenex that had been used one too many times. “I didn’t mean to get us all sick,” he groans. 

Makkachin and Vicchan are both far too exhausted to even yip in response or to sarcastically look at Viktor with puppy dog eyes. Drowsily the pair closes their eyes, trying to sleep underneath the hand-woven quilt. 

The two dogs eventually drift to sleep, snoring lightly between their hushed breaths. 

Viktor however, he isn’t so lucky to be able to snooze off the illness. His blue eyes stare at the boring white ceiling, then to the dull glass coffee table, then to the monotonous hardwood floor. 

Sweat begins to drip down Viktor’s back, making his sweater sticky and far too warm. Viktor reaches for his forehead and presses the back of his hand on his skin. 

_ Boiling.  _

Viktor pants, desperate to escape from knowing that he was being cooked alive in this burning inferno that was his fever. 

His head throbs, the room spins and his stomach is on an unenjoyable roller coaster ride. Viktor prays that the help he contacted will come. With medicine. 

Viktor’s prayers are answered when Yuri charges through Viktor’s front door. Yuri, Viktor’s savior is holding the two things that can one, a plastic bag with food sticking out and two, cold medicine. 

The blonde’s eye twitches, ready to shred Viktor into two with his bare hands, “Why do I have to be the one to take care of you. I knew you were going to get sick the moment I saw you outside… Viktor, you’re an idiot.” 

“Y-Yuri…” Viktor fails to speak properly, gasping for air. 

“Stop overreacting, you’re sick, not dying,” Yuri tosses the small bottle of liquid cold medicine at Viktor’s face. 

Viktor catches the drug with his gigantic forehead, rasping out, “Thank you…” 

Yuri clutches his face in frustration and growls, “Will you just drink the damn thing.” 

Eventually, Viktor complies, only after Yuri drags Viktor off the sofa and onto the ground. 

Which takes a while actually, considering that Viktor is heavier than he looks and Yuri, has noodle arms. 

* * *

By the early evening, Makkachin and Vicchan were fully recovered, bounding around the apartment joyously. The two even gave Yuri a lick on the cheek.

After a tablespoon of medicine, a few hours of sleep, and a bit of belated lunch, Viktor was fully recovered as well. Although Yuri liked the man more when he was a  _ quiet _ , sick mess. 

Yuri sits on the couch making an obvious border between him and the many used tissues that littered the couch. 

Viktor on the other hand, he seats himself in the pile of tissues; the man had already been sick for the entire day, had fallen into the same snow heap three times and had skipped breakfast. One pile of tissues wasn’t much of a difference to Viktor’s trend of bad luck. 

“Yuri,” Viktor nudges the boy’s shoulder with the back of his hand, “so you came all the way here because I was sick? But you live so far!” 

Yuri rolls his eyes, scooting further away from Viktor’s side of the couch, “Viktor, me and Mom literally live down the block. Besides I had to come, Mom kept blackmailing me saying that it was my fault you’re insane enough to go outside now because I never visit you enough and you never get enough social contact to sustain your own self-sanity.”

“Aw, you can’t lie to me Yuri,” Viktor wiggles his index finger in Yuri’s face, “I know you were just worried about me.” 

Yuri shoves Viktor away, “Yeah,” the blonde pauses for a moment, then ends in a deadpan voice, “fuck no.”

A quiet whimper comes from Vicchan who was sleeping on the back of a napping Makkachin in front of the couch. 

“Just admit it, Yuri! Say you love your loving big brother!” Viktor snickers in the back of his hand. 

“I’m going home!” Yuri screams picking himself off the couch and heads for the door. 

“Give your big brother a hug before you leave?”

“No!” Yuri screams at the top of his lungs before slamming the door shut. 

* * *

Closing the curtains in his bedroom, Viktor covers the dark abyss of the night with white silk drapes. Momentarily, Viktor glances at Makkachin and Vicchan on the bed who were already nodding off where Viktor was supposed to sleep. Seeing that the two were hogging up most of the bed, Viktor seats himself at the edge of his bedframe right beside Vicchan.

“Hey, Vicchan Number Two,” Viktor whispers quietly and stares off into space. 

His azure eyes rest on the cell phone lying on the nightstand beside the bed. 

“You must miss whoever your owner is, don’t you?” Viktor pats Vicchan on the head, ruffling the small poodle’s curly fur. “Yeah, you probably miss them a lot.” 

“Let’s return you back to your owner then,” Viktor smiles as he reaches to pick up his phone. He dials the blocky digits of the cell phone number etched into the information section of the Vicchan’s dog tag. 

The phone hums and sings as Viktor waits patiently for the caller to pick up, and eventually, someone does. 

“Hello?” a male’s voice—with a faint Japanese accent—on the other side of the phone speaks. 

“Hello! Sorry to bother you so late at night, this is Viktor Nikiforov speaking!” 

The man on the other side of the phone pauses for a moment before stuttering, “V-Viktor?” 

“Yes! I found a dog yesterday, when I was on my way home,” Viktor informs. “Are you the owner of Vicchan?” 

“Y-Yes…” the man on the other side of the phone stutters.

“Perfect! Do you live in St Petersburg?” 

“I-I do.” 

“Great! Then shall we meet tomorrow at 10:30 at the coffee shop on Kazanskaya Street, you know where that is right?”

“Um-”

“See you in the morning then?”

“Uh- yeah.”

“Alright, thank you!” Viktor waits for the man to end the call, but instead, the man on the other side of the phone keeps talking. 

“Oh god, Phicihit. You were right it was Viktor, he says we should meet up tomorrow, but you know I can’t, you know me, I’m not good with people, I mess up my words and embarrass myself, please I’m begging you go in my place, I’ll work your shift at the coffee shop, I’ll give you your selfie sticks back, even Arthur, I’ll watch The King and the Skater with you, 1 and 2, please I really need you to go for me…” 

The man continues to ramble on and on, begging for this  _ Phichit _ . Peaking Viktor’s interest, Viktor intervenes, “Who’s Phichit?” 

Viktor’s reply is the sound of the dial tone buzzing in his ears. 

“Hello?” 

Viktor flips his phone off, tucking it to his side. 

Viktor turns to Vicchan who was dozing off to sleep, struggling to remain awake. 

“You have a strange owner Vicchan Number Two. I can see why you must like them so much,” Viktor laughs, a broad smile on his face. 

* * *

 

Viktor’s ready at the coffee shop the next day at 10 a.m. The coffee shop itself was cozy and quaint. More people were inside rather than outside mainly because it was the middle of winter and there was nobody crazy enough to be having coffee outside in -8 degrees weather. 

Except for Viktor at least. 

Yes, Viktor was sitting outside on one of the circular outdoors cafe tables with Makkachin and Vicchan—without leashes this time—at his feet. With most of his body freezing, the hot coffee cup that Vikor was holding was only enough to keep his hands and only his hands, warm. 

“Are you ready to see your owner again Vicchan Number Two?” 

Vicchan barks in response, wagging his fluffy tail excitedly. 

Viktor drums his fingers along the glass of the table when Vicchan all of the sudden leaps up onto his paws and runs to a stranger, frantically barking. 

Viktor and Makkachin pick themselves up from their seats at the cafe table and chases after the small poodle. “Vicchan!” Viktor calls. 

The random person spins around at Viktor’s voice, spotting Vicchan and opens their arms as the poodle ran into them for a hug, “Vicchan! I missed you so much!”  

Viktor stops chasing. Viktor watches and smiles as Vicchan Number Two happily licks the stranger’s face and the random man smiles in return. 

“Viktor,” the stranger says closely holding Vicchan to his chest. Taking a closer look at the stranger’s their mocha brown eyes and blue framed glasses were more evident now, “I can’t thank you enough for finding Vicchan!” 

The man dips his head in gratitude. 

Viktor finds himself staring, lost in the features of the man’s face from the structure of the man’s jaw to the creases of his mouth all the way to the shape of his soft eyes. The man seems to be strangely familiar to Viktor, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. 

Shaking himself out of his trance, Viktor sends the man a signature smile, “Anytime!” Walking up to Vicchan, Viktor holds one of the puppy’s dainty paws in his hand, “You be good alright?” 

Makkachin stands on his hind legs to look at Vicchan for one last time. 

“Come on Makkachin, let’s go home,” Victor smiles and turns to his poodle. 

Makkachin doesn’t budge, and Viktor’s dog simply stays put where he is, staying beside Vicchan’s side. 

“Makkachin, let’s go,” Viktor insists, but Makkachin remains, refusing to move an inch. Viktor sighs and apologizes, “I’m sorry, but I think Makkachin got a little bit too attached...”

“No it’s fine!” the stranger frantically waves his hand, pushing the idea away. 

The stranger’s expression softens when he looks at Makkachin desperately cling to his arm. “Makkachin… If you miss Vicchan so much, you can visit him anytime you’d like,” the man crouches down so Makkachin wouldn’t have to stand anymore. 

Makkachin barks accepting the offer.

As if understanding exactly what Makkachin had said, the man smiles brightly. “That’s great! I think Vicchan would like that a lot too,” the stranger pats Makkachin on the head. 

The stranger and Makkachin both turn to face Viktor, “That alright with you Viktor?”

“Yes! Of course!” Viktor nods, over the moon with it all. 

“Okay!” the stranger nods and pulls out a receipt from his pocket. Scribbling on the back of the crumbled paper, the man passes it to Viktor. “My number. Call me whenever Makkachin feels lonely!” 

Viktor smiles, looking down at the scratchy digits written on the paper, “We’ll be sure to call you soon, er…”

“Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki,” Yuuri finishes Viktor’s lost sentence. 

“We’ll call you soon then, Yuuri!” Viktor grins as he and Makkachin wave goodbye leaving Yuuri and Vicchan behind them. 

* * *

 Viktor receives a call less than an hour later after meeting Yuuri, and it was safe to say it was, well, not what he expected. 

“Viktor!” the voice of Viktor’s friend, Georgi screeches across the phone. 

“Georgi, please you’re leaving me deaf here,” Viktor presses his fingers around his earlobe hoping his eardrum didn’t just break. 

Viktor can hear the sobbing in the background and immediately knows what this is, “Anya dumped me!

“Oh…” Viktor trails off, he really did not want to be in the current situation, especially since Georgi isn’t the best person to handle rejection. “Sorry to hear that?”

“I don’t understand! We were doing so well just the other day! But no! She left me for some ice hockey player!” Georgi bawls, Viktor could feel the man’s tears through the phone. 

“Calm down,” Viktor repeats, praying that Georgi would listen to some reason. “Georgi,” Viktor says, but Georgi’s wailing swallows Viktor’s voice. “Georgi,” Viktor tries again, but the man on the other side of the call continues to sob. 

“Look on the bright side!” Viktor thinks. Is there even a bright side? “You can find someone else now!” Viktor suggests, pep in his voice. 

Georgi only cries more, howling, “How am I supposed to do that! Anya was my soulmate! We shared Valentines together!”

Viktor sighs. “You’re a good person I mean surely you can find someone else!” 

“I can never find someone like Anya! Never! Why am I forever doomed as a one-sided lover!” Georgi screams till his heart begins to cry as well. “How is that  _ you _ and  _ Katsuki _ can find love, but I can’t?” the statement is a sudden slap in the face. “Why Anya! Why!” 

“Georgi wait did you say Katsu-!” Viktor is cut off by the sound of the clear dial tone.

Viktor stares at his phone screen, stunned and confused at the current event, “He hung up…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Viktor falling into the snowbank multiple times was based off real life events that had embarrassingly happened to me a long time ago haha.  
> I think I really like writing dog actions haha, might be since I have three of my own. 
> 
>  
> 
> **In case anyone wants to ever come talk to me! **  
> **  
> **  
> [Tumblr](https://beeceae.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/beeceae)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri said that Viktor had a problem.  
> Viktor said it was a past time.

Yuuri. The name stains Viktor’s tongue and rings within his ears. How on Earth did Georgi out of all people know Yuuri’s name? Not to mention, why did Georgi believe that he and Yuuri were in an affair. Viktor had only met Yuuri, and Viktor blatantly had an eye for someone else. Georgi knows that all too well. After all, he’s seen Viktor in his love-induced trance every day for half a year.

* * *

Yuri said that Viktor had a problem. Any normal person would have quit by now. 

Then again Viktor wasn't very normal.

Viktor was always a fan of flowers. They were his favourite to photograph, especially in sceneries. There was something about them that had this entrancing feel to them with their gorgeous colours and intricately designed petals and the overall beauty of each individual flower that sparked different meanings.

It wasn’t Viktor’s fault that he kept visiting the same flower shop because the flowers there peaked Viktor’s interest.

Or more so, the worker there.

Okay, so what if Viktor came to the flower shop only so he could just see the florist with black hair working on new flower arrangements and watch from a reasonable distance to never know the man’s name?

So what if he went there whenever he had the spare time, staying there for hours only to buy a single rose every single day?

So what if he only bought a rose so he could possibly give it to the handsome florist only to fail to do so?

Did that mean Viktor had a problem? No, it didn’t.  

* * *

 

Viktor remembered the first day clearly—and every day after that—the day he met the florist.

Viktor was walking with Makkachin nearby his favourite coffee shop, the one where multiple bicycles of assorted colours were always lined up at the bike rack.

That day was a good day.

The sun was shining, breaking through the green leaves of the trees and the cars that drove past Viktor only left muted hums echoing in his ears. His morning photo shoot with a handful of newlyweds had been a success, as per usual. Yes, that day was a good day for Viktor. And it was about to be a whole lot better.

 _Yip! Yip!_ the barks entered Viktor’s ears.

Viktor glanced at Makkachin who simply looked back at the man with a confused head tilt. It only took a few seconds for Viktor to register that the barks were coming from somewhere across the street.

Squinting his eyes and holding his hand up to avoid the sun’s sharp gaze, Viktor could make out the small outline of a dog? Or was it a cat? It honestly could have been a bird. Viktor couldn’t really tell with the sunlight that was relentlessly smacking him in the face.

As he struggled to make out the figure, suddenly, a voice crept into his ear, making the man jump, “What are you looking at Mr. Romeo?”

Scared out of his wits, Viktor sprang backward while almost stepping on Makkachin’s paws in the meantime.

After getting a solid look at the person who had just subtracted years to Viktor’s life, his heart rate somewhat returned to normal, and he wasn’t coming to the conclusion that he was going to be murdered by a serial killer.

“Christophe!” Viktor said as he placed his heart on his chest. “You gave Makkachin a heart attack!”

Makkachin glared at Viktor, frowning at his owner for blaming it on _the_ _dog_.

Christophe laughed, combing his fingers through his blonde locks. “Well, I’m sorry for giving you a heart attack, Prince Charming.”

“I thought you said you were going to stop calling me those names,” Viktor sighed before looking back across the street.

Christophe pouted, “Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Winking one of his emerald green eyes, Christophe rested his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, “So what was the prince looking at then, hm?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, “I swore I saw something over there…” his voice trailed off as he squinted again to make out some sort of figure that resembled what he had seen before.

“Hm, I don’t see anything,” Christophe holds his hand over his eyebrows as a visor. “Are you sure your eyesight isn’t playing tricks on you? You're kind of old you know, I mean, look at all this gray hair!”

Viktor clutched his supposedly graying hair. “It’s platinum blonde!” he whines.

“No mon cherí, it’s gray. Your receding hairline says it all,” Christophe jokes, nudging his best friend by the shoulder. “My you really are delusional, Yuri was right.”

“Well, Makkachin doesn’t think I’m crazy!”

Makkachin barks in response, meaning, no. This was most definitely payback for blaming it on the dog earlier.

Viktor holds an exasperated look on his face, clutching the side of his chest. Slowly he curled up on the ground, sulking in the middle of the street, grumbling how he wasn’t balding and how his hair was in prime condition for his age and how Christophe was just jealous of his fabulous hair. However, Christophe practically toppled to the ground to this, clutching his ribcage in his fit of laughter, with many people staring at both of them as if they were insane.

Once Christophe was done laughing at Viktor’s pain, he pulled himself off the ground, but Viktor remained to grumble.

“Phew, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages,” Christophe sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes, “funny how you’re always the subject that makes me laugh.”

“Mm, I appreciate it,” Viktor said sarcastically.

“C’mon don’t be like that. Here, I’ll treat you to some coffee,” the blonde offers, throwing his hand out for Viktor to take.

* * *

Christophe, Viktor, and Makkachin were seated outside the closest coffee shop, which so conventionally was the best one in the city, and Viktor’s favourite one too. Clouds drifted above Christophe and Viktor’s heads as they chatted away, their elbows leaning against the frosted glass cafe table.

Two cups of coffee clinked as a waitress in a black waist apron set them down onto the glass table.

“Thank you,” Christophe added as he and Viktor both took their cups.

Holding one cup between his two hands, Christophe moved his lips close enough to feel the coffee’s radiating heat. “You know I’m surprised you’re not married by now,” Christophe said as he took a sip from the steaming cup.

Viktor sighed before pinching the bridge of his nose, “Is this another trick to make me go on a blind date with your cousin again, cause’ I’m not falling for it.”

Christophe gasped, throwing his hand over his chest acting offended, “Don’t you have any faith in your best friend? And for your information, she was a fine young woman!”

“Firstly, no I don’t and secondly, 4 years old is not the age of a fine young woman!” Viktor sloshed some of the searing black liquid from his coffee cup onto the table.

“Then how about-”

Viktor cuts his friend off, taking the words right out of Chis’ mouth, “No I’m not going to date your other cousin, Chris. Simon is five!”

“He’s six actually, and I was going to say, Luca,” Christophe shrugged and subtly made a slurping sound as his lips pressed against the coffee mug.

“I’m not going on a date with one of your cous-!” Viktor stopped as he slammed his coffee onto the table, spilling it onto his hand. His hand prickled as if it was corroding away by the scalding coffee and Viktor bit his bottom lip in agony.

Christophe snickered as Viktor frantically dabbed at his stinging hand with a napkin. “Suit yourself, but I’m telling you, your skills are getting rusty, Mr. Most-Wanted Bachelor.”

Once Viktor’s hand didn’t feel as if it was in flames, Christophe headed home leaving Makkachin and Viktor alone at the glass cafe tables parked right outside of the coffee shop.

The late afternoon sunlight was a little less forceful on Viktor’s azure eyes. Watching the clouds flowing west across the blue skies, Viktor faced his poodle, “Time to head home now, don’t you think Makkachin?”

Makkachin barked in reply and wagged his tail happily.

As the duo picked themselves up from their spots, a voice called out Viktor’s name.

“Viktor!” a man across the street waved frantically.

Viktor waved back and cupped one of his hands together, “Georgi!” Viktor ran across the street with Makkachin by his side once the road was clear of cars.

“Georgi! I haven’t seen you in a while!” Viktor greeted his companion.

“Yeah, I’ve been spending the time with my new girlfriend, Anya!”

“Wow! Congratulations!” Viktor bursted and patted his friend on the back.

“She’s my soulmate! Look, look!” all of the sudden Georgi pulled out his phone and frantically swiped through tens and hundreds of photos featuring the same girl.

“Uh huh…” Viktor nodded, not actually paying attention anymore as he stopped looking through the hundreds of photos after the 3rd one.

Abruptly, a voice called out Georgi's name, halting the man in his avid showcase of photos.

“I’m coming!” Georgi cried back, shoving his phone back into his pant pocket. “I have to get going. Work is calling for me like my love for Anya! Oh, Viktor, come to the shop! You can help me pick out some flowers for my love!”

* * *

Viktor knew that Georgi worked as a florist at the same store—Yufloria Flowers, as the sign in front of the store read—for over two years, granted, Viktor had never actually been inside. And how Viktor regretted it so.

The shop was lit up, illuminated by the warmth of the sunlight passing through the plexiglass windows that made up the front of the store. The floors, the ceiling, the counter, everything was white, giving the entire shop a nice, clean and polished look that made it glow. Assorted flowers of every kind, splashed blooms of unexpected colour to the white room. It was a burst of colour to a monochrome world, and it was paradise to a photographer. Viktor even felt himself getting overwhelmed at the sight of it.

It was enough to make a grown man tear up, and indeed it did.

“Viktor are you crying?” Georgi asked as he threw a green apron over his head.

Viktor wailed back, “No!”

Makkachin pawed at Viktor, resting his paw on Viktor’s leg to support the “grown-up.”

“Okay, well,” Georgi said, “help me find some flowers for Anya, I’ll be back in a second!”

Picking himself off the white marble floors, Viktor inspected one of the buckets, that were attached to the windows, in which Viktor guessed using hinges. Inside the tin bucket was a cluster of white semi-long petalled flowers with canary yellow floral heads.

“What do you think Makkachin? Do you like these flowers?” Viktor plucked one of the daisies from the tin bucket and leaned over so Makkachin could see.

Woof! Makkachin looked up at Viktor and sniffed the flower before sneezing onto its petals.

“Yes, perhaps white isn’t the best colour for Georgi…” Viktor mumbled and placed the flower back into the metal pail.

Suddenly a sharp clank dropped from behind Viktor.

A man with slicked back hair the colour of a crow’s feathers and eyes of chocolate was standing with their sleeves rolled up and green apron hanging around their neck.

Viktor found himself staring and slowly being sucked into the mesmerization of the man’s brown eyes.

“Uh!” the stranger jumped and rapidly picked up the bucket they had just dropped. They desperately grasped at the many flowers that now littered the flooring.

Every move the florist made, Viktor was only more and more engrossed in the man.

Everything about him was so captivating; from the man’s slightly chubby cheeks to his slick back hair and oh so gorgeous eyes, he was completely and utterly enthralling.

Each time the florist with raven hair picked up a flower, Viktor watched as they held each one between their thumb and middle finger and gently caressed the petals. Viktor even took notice of how the florist carefully placed each flower back into the bucket how the man was extra observant to the elaborate layout and placement of each floret.

Suddenly taking notice of Viktor’s gaze, the florist’s delicate pace was wreaked havoc upon. He began to quickly cram the remaining flowers into the bucket and trudged to one of the four corners of the shop, specifically the one furthest away from Viktor.

Viktor frowned at this and sighed in unison with Makkachin before returning back to searching for flowers for Georgi.  

Carnations, Irises, Dogwood, Daffodils, Orchids. There were many choices of fine flowers, beautiful as day, yet none that matched Viktor’s tastes. His finger on his lips, Viktor furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought of which to choose until he felt a prodding at his ankle. Looking down, it was Makkachin with a dethroned rose in his jaws.

A rose. A beautiful red rose of vivid red that paralleled the colour of blood or the burning sky. It was far from fine. It was stunning, it was cliche, but stunning. Viktor marvelled in the gorgeous shade and carefully removed the flower from between Makkachin's teeth.

The second Viktor had the delicate blossom in between his fingers, Makkachin gave Viktor a push towards the counter. Viktor raised an eyebrow to his poodle and Makkachin glanced at the florist in the opposing corner of the room.

Seeing this, Viktor pointed at himself then at the black-haired worker, asking for confirmation.

Makkachin looked up at him, and Viktor saw an ever so slight nod.

Viktor smiled in return and scratched behind his dog's fluffy ears.

Viktor's own dog was setting him up.

Smiling at the rose like a loony man, Viktor headed for the counter to present the beautiful flower for a more beautiful person.

Out of the corner of Viktor's eye, Viktor noticed that the florist made a move to come towards the register, but before the man could reach it he was beaten by Georgi. 

"Viktor!" Georgi beamed. "You found a rose for Anya! The perfect flower for the perfect person." 

Georgi snatched the rose between Viktor's fingers and inspected it before handing it back to Viktor.

"She'll most definitely love it," Georgi gushed as the florist with ivory black awkwardly retreated to the back of the shop. 

A part of Viktor broke just then. And Viktor was failing to try and not strangle his dear friend at that very moment. 

Viktor was sure that the florist interpreted that it was Viktor who was going to give the rose to Anya. He could have just said, "There's a misunderstanding! This rose is you not Georgi's girlfriend!" But then again, that didn't sound much better than just leaving silently. 

So Viktor backed up and walked out of the store with Makkachin behind him. Viktor moped, dragging himself down the street still clutching the rose in his hand.

It was safe to say that the most wanted bachelor was a tad rusty. Just a tad.

He’d be better tomorrow and 100% guarantee that he’ll swoop the mysterious florist off their feet the next day.

* * *

The sun was shining through the plexiglass windows that made up the entire front wall of the flower shop. Viktor inconspicuously darted his blue eyes over to the working male florist in the opposing corner. The worker clutched a daffodil between his thumb and middle finger, a pair of scissors in his spare hand.

Viktor’s eyes followed the man’s every move as he watched the florist snip off part of the flower stem with the pair of scissors. Viktor swore he could have just watched the man for hours on end if he possibly could, but he couldn’t. Checking his watch, he knew it was getting far too late, and he should be getting back home soon.

So Viktor plucked a red rose from one of the tin buckets laying out in front of him and walked to the counter to pay for it.

Except he didn’t.

Just by Viktor's usual luck and before he could reach the counter, the man with raven locks scurried into the back room of the shop. 

Viktor waited by the front register, hoping that the stranger would return, but no, instead, another man wearing an apron emerged from the back door. 

"Excuse me?" Viktor inquired, "do you know where the florist with slicked back black hair is?" 

The man didn't even rise an eyebrow to Viktor, just simply said, "He left work for the day."

Viktor cursed inwardly and thanked worker for his help. Rather depressingly, Viktor slapped a 20 dollar bill on the counter and plodded out of the shop. 

 The bell above the flower shop’s door chimed as Viktor exited the quaint establishment.

The moment he had taken one step out of the building, Viktor wanted to scream.

How many times was it now?

139?

He had lost count of the number of times he had bought a flower that was meant to be for the florist, yet never had the chance to bestow them upon the man.

In all honestly, the man probably didn't even know that he existed.

Sure, Viktor was a distinctively attractive and undeniably famous photographer, but not everyone in the world knew his name, and that was understandable. However, even if the florist just possibly did know Viktor, the dark haired man probably came to believe that Viktor was insane.

And broke.

Because Viktor came to that same store, his store, staying there for hours on just to buy a rose for every single day.

Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

Viktor was running out of storage for these red roses, each day a rose wilted then a new one would replace it, and to be honest, it was becoming depressing. Especially if anyone saw Viktor’s garbage nowadays how it wasn’t even composed of trash anymore and more than 90% of it was dead roses.

Viktor was coming to the conclusion that fate wasn't on his side for this.

It hadn’t been for the past 1… 48… 102… 139 days.

Viktor knew he had to make a move on the florist, ask the man out for a date at the very least.

Viktor sighed, and he swore to himself that tomorrow would be his day!

Hopefully.

* * *

By the next day, Viktor knew it was going to be a good day.

He had decided at eleven o’clock last night—with Makkachin who was actually half asleep at the time—that he would finally give the rose that was long overdue to that one alluring florist.

Viktor was going to make sure he talked to the man for the first time that day. He’d ask them for their name perhaps even their number if he was lucky.

There was simply only one problem, minuscule actually, microscopic even.

When Viktor arrived at Yufloria Flowers, the florist he had been hoping to see, wasn’t there.

Poof, gone, disappeared without a trace.

Georgi told Viktor that the man had taken the day off for personal reasons. For the first time in 140 days, the florist wasn’t there.

Viktor thanked Georgi, and the other florist whom he learned was Otabek Altin and left the building, his head hung low in disappointment.

Today was an unfortunate day for Viktor, an unlucky one at that.

Trudging along the footway Viktor also went to pick up some groceries considering the fact that his house was lacking food and he really didn’t want to resort to eating dog kibble again. It had the strangest aftertaste.

Least now Viktor was feeling much better. The man at the bakery had given Viktor an extra pastry, and his mood was all pep and swing now.

Taking his foot out, left, right, left, right, Viktor whistled a little tune quiet enough for only him to hear and for nobody to say hush to.

His thirty-minute trek was adventurous, only slightly less than a block away from his home now, Viktor had endured through one mental breakdown, and an encounter with a toy poodle. Though most of those thirty minutes involved Viktor groaning about how he was a horrible owner for his beloved dog, Makkachin. The other remainder of those thirty minutes, Viktor found himself face to face with a poodle, much smaller than his, but still just as adorable.

With the dog in his arms, Viktor smiled at the pup, and the poodle smiled back, it was like looking in a mirror, an adorable puppy creating mirror.

As Viktor walked down the street towards his flat with the poodle in his arms, Viktor grinned and spoke with pep in his voice, “You know my name is Vicchan too!”

Yes, today was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri said that Viktor had a problem. Any normal person would have quit by now. 
> 
> Then again Viktor wasn't very normal.


End file.
